Hothouse
by markovgirl
Summary: The war is over, Light and Dark have blurred past recognition. Unknowingly harbouring a source of dangerously powerful magic, Hermione tracked down by Tom Riddle. He knows what lurks inside her, but he's no idea how to remove it. M for a reason. (Complete)
1. Chapter 1

The war had been over for two years. Two years since the eyes of Hogwarts had watched Harry blown into a curling pyre of smoke and ash by the one they now called 'Lord'. It had been a strange death for Harry Potter, he had looked at peace, a dreamy smile appearing on his grime-encrusted face before his skin fluttered into tatters and was whisked away by a light breeze. There had been silence after this, only for a moment. Then came a great roar from the side of the Light, and the departed's best friend surged forward, wand raised, red-hair like a beacon in the grey scene. His rapid curses barely touched the Dark Lord, but managed to set a number of Death Eaters on fire. Then, the crowd joined him, running towards evil like lambs to the slaughter. Hundreds of bodies surged in front of her, the battle so fast and bright that she could barely tell who was on which side She hadn't moved, her eyes had been fixed on Voldemort. She was clever enough to know it was over, she knew he had won. Her wand lowered when she noticed that the Dark Lord hadn't moved, he was standing stock still in the centre of the fight, as if those around him were unaware of his presence. He was staring straight at her through those foul red slits. There was nothing she could do now. He smiled widely, thin lips stretching to non-existence. His smooth voice rang out loudly in her mind, and her mind alone; _Look at my madness, Hermione Jean Granger. Isn't it beautiful?_

Her mind remained blank, what was left for her? Hogwarts was destroyed, her loved ones were dead, magic had been violated. Without a word to the Dark Lord, or even an acknowledgement of his presence in her head, she had turned on her heel and walked up the cracked staircase, through the crumbling hallways and entered the Great Hall. It had barely been touched by the battle - the tables and benches were still set up, the windows were intact and the enchanted sky was filled with stars. Quietly, she pulled back a bench and took a seat at the table, folding her hands together on the shining wood. There should be students here, they should be having dinner, chattering, slurping, chomping - there should be life here. She couldn't see anymore death, her head was so numb that tears could no longer fall for those she'd lost. With a deep breath and a final, "I'm sorry," she lifted her wand and pointed it directed at her heart.

_Stop. _

A calm voice rang through her mind, halting her actions. Dark shades began to form in the seat across the table from her, appearing as brush strokes painting a picture. Rapidly, they formed the body of the Dark Lord, who sat silently staring at her as she lowered her wand back to the table.

"Why are you doing that, Hermione?" the man asked, his strange, serpentine face twisting into an expression of confusion.

"I-" she began, quietly. "I have no reason to live."

"You're not frightened of dying?" he questioned, raising a hairless brow. Hermione shook her head and looked down at her hands. They were dirty, her fingernails were encrusted with blood, someone else's blood. She looked across the table to see his hands resting in a similar position to hers - his fingers were clean, spidery, white. "I am not certain that I can allow you to die, Miss Granger."

Hermione raised her head to look at him and chuckled slightly, the sound now unfamiliar to her. "I'm not sure you have much of a choice in the matter. If I go back out there, I'll die at someone else's hand."

"Yes, the fight seems to have transgressed into 'Every Man For Himself' rather than 'Light vs Dark'. Percy Weasley just killed his own brother," Voldemort replied, absent-mindedly. It was strange to be in such close proximity to the monster, his looks were bizarre, but his movements seemed strangely human - the way he rolled his wand between his fingertips, the slightly slouched posture as he sat. Hermione didn't bother to ask which Weasley had died. It didn't matter anymore.

"I would find it better...to die by my own hand. Call me Republican Cato, it just seems..." she trailed off. Seemed nobler, braver...or easier, nicer? Her eyes wanted to well up with tears but she couldn't quite bring herself to it.

"My apologies, Miss Granger. You cannot be allowed to kill yourself," the Dark Lord replied, ceasing his actions and sitting perfectly still. Hermione shut her eyes and braced herself for the impact of his killing curse, assuming that he wanted to kill the Golden Trio with his own hands, but found the hit never came. It never, ever came. She opened her eyes to look back at him smiling momentarily, before another pair of hands roughly took hold of her shoulders. Before she had time to turn around a blow struck the back of her head and darkness overtook her mind.

It had been a year and a half since she had been thrown into the crowded cellar of Riddle Manor by an unknown Death Eater. The room had been packed to the brim with mudbloods and half-breeds of all sorts, some pacing in the little room they had, some crying, some tearing the flesh from their skin in madness. Some of them had sat, weeping silently until their hearts gave out and their emaciated bodies slumped against the wall. The dead were mourned quietly by strangers, then removed from the cellar to be burnt, presumably. It was only presumed by the rancid, burning smell coming from the hallways, no-one really knew what happened outside of their rotten prison.

She had been placed in a special area though, one separated from the mixed masses by a set of iron bars, instead populated by female humans whom the inhabitants of the Manor saw attractive enough to abuse in their spare time. Their room was dark, sweat and blood dripped from the walls. From her observations, she gathered that this had once served as a wine cellar - it was an odd image in her mind. Each girl was a new bottle to be cracked open and drained, eventually emptied and thrown away. If the bottle broke whilst still in storage, it was disposed of, or left to drain out on the cellar floor until someone discovered the shards.

A noise brought her from her thoughts - the door to their room was opening. Immediately, the screams began. The process of choosing a girl was more deranged than the acts later inflicted on them, in her mind. They would fight against one another to get to the back of the room, in order not to be seen, not to be picked. There were no allies in this room, only bodies who could not stand to take any more. She got to her feet and forced her way to the corner of the room. _Not today. Not today. _She had never been picked before, she was still strong enough to sharply elbow and scrap her way to invisibility at the back of the room. It'd been over a year now, and she wasn't ready to give up yet.

The door swung open and the outlines of two figures lingered in the light. She winced at the sudden glare, her eyes no longer used to anything but the dark. From what she could make out, one of the figures was male, one female. Another captive being shoved in here, she guessed, nothing to worry about yet.

"Granger?" a male voice rang out through the room.

Immediately her head snapped back up to look at the male figure in the doorway. Who was this? How did he know she was in here? She should have been forgotten, lost in the system by now. No-one had recognized Harry Potter's friend since she had been here - had they, she probably would have been offered up by her fellow prisoners as an ultimate prize, something they could barter with. Her heart began to race, and she backed a little further into the corner of the room.

"Granger, I know you're in here. Come out, come out," the voice said again. It was harsh, mocking. She peered at the doorway from between the arms of other girls. The male figure grasped the female roughly by the shoulders and hauled her backwards under the direct light in the hall. _Oh no. _"Come on, Granger. Come out or I'll pull her teeth out."

She would recognize that startling shade of red anywhere. _Ginny. _The girl was dressed in the typical attire that the rest of them wore, a simple, oversized grey shirt and little else, no shoes, no socks, but she could see that it was clean - Ginny had never been here before, perhaps she had only just been caught. Her hands were tied in front of her, her body strained as the man hauled her up onto her tiptoes by her hair. The red-head's limbs certainly didn't have that skeletal, abuse quality to them yet and she was still struggling against the man's grip on her hair, teeth bared.

"Granger! Come here at once, or I swear this girl will suffer. Come here and I will let her go," the voice commanded.

She didn't move just yet. Her life for Ginny's? Certainly what awaited her outside the cellar was terrifying, her stomach churned at the thought of the condition of the outside world, but if she could save one life before her own death then perhaps she could go out with a lighter heart. Gulping down her fear, she got to her feet and began to push her way through the girls in front of her. It felt like a walk to the death, it was hard, she wanted to stop - but she kept her eyes focused on Ginny. Sweet, gorgeous, brave Ginevra Weasley. Ginny would survive anything, she would survive far longer than her. She stopped a few feet from the doorway, holding a hand to her eyes to stop the unforgiving light from burning them, noticing for the first time that her fingers were shaking. _Stop that. Be brave, by Godric, be brave. _

"I'm here," she croaked, her voice little more than a whisper, the result in not having used it for months.

"Hermione?" Ginny cried out, a smile stretching across her freckled face. _Hermione. _Yes, that was her. Hermione - bookworm extraordinaire. Fat lot of good her books and cleverness did her now.

"Ginny, I-" she began, lowering her arm and beginning to walk towards her friend. She was silenced by the force of Ginny being shoved into her and the feeling of a hand enveloping her upper arm. Quickly, she was pulled away from her friend and out of the door. Hermione began screaming, desperately trying to pull away and get back to Ginny, but her hand would not let go and get pulling. The light of the hall burnt and she shut her eyes with a shriek, hearing a door shut behind her followed by Ginny's angry shouts. "NO! Let go of me, let her go!" she shouted. She heard a loud cracking sound from in front of her, followed by a familiar tugging sensation behind her belly button. _Apparition. _

"Shut up, Miss Granger," the man said, finally letting go of her. She fell backwards against what felt like a wall, knees buckling and sliding to the ground. There was silence for a moment as she finally managed to open her bloodshot eyes and view her surroundings. The room was grand, very grand - all black ebony furniture, drinks cabinets and elaborate rugs. A shiny grand piano stood in one corner, next to a desk and a set of leather armchairs, an equally shiny four-poster in another. Five floor-to-ceiling windows covered the wall in front of her, allowing her to see the night-time sky from her position on the floor. She noted the lack of personality, no photos, no mirrors, no heirlooms or portraits. A hand suddenly waved in front of her eyes, startling her. "Anyone home?!"

Hermione looked up wearily to view her captor. She didn't instantly recognize him - dark, black wavy hair that was perfectly combed, aristocratic features that were impeccably chiseled and eyes of dark grey. He wore a simple black suit and a deep purple shirt, but what really caught her eye were the shoes on his feet, pointed and so shiny they appeared to have never been worn. They stood close to her own feet, so dirty and naked in contrast.

"Where am I?" she asked, not looking back up at him.

"Five floors up from where you just were," the man replied, taking a few steps back from her crumpled body and sitting down on a leather armchair in the middle of the room.

The girl surveyed the man from her position on the floor - he was good-looking, but undoubtedly a threat to her. "Is this where all the girls come?" she asked, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her head on them.

"No."

She hadn't expected that answer. Now at a loss, she pursed her lips slightly and continued her questioning - he hadn't asked her, or forced her, to shut up yet, so presumably he didn't mind. "What do they do to them when they get taken away?"

It had always been a wonder in her mind - the girls never came back, and no-one spoke in the cells, so she only her herself to speculate with. "They are used until they are no longer wanted. It depends on who buys them as to what happens to them." he replied.

"Did you buy me?" she asked, trying to push his answer from her mind. _Toys to be played with and broken. _

"No."

"Why?"

"Because the man who owns you all, Mr Malfoy, doesn't wish to charge me," he said, mouth curling into a cruel smile.

Hermione sat in silence for a moment, mulling over his answers. Owned by Mr Malfoy - said who? Mr Malfoy's House of Horrors - it was absolutely disgusting. Before she opened her mouth to burst into curses at the treatment, a thought sprung into her mind. "Who are you?"

The man turned to smile at her. Well, _man _was a bit of an overstatement - she certainly had the air of a mature man, but his face told her that he couldn't be far into his twenties. Not far off her own age, if she could remember the date of her birthday correctly. "Of course, you've been shut away for this development," he began, getting to his feet. He walked across the room - she noticed his neat, elegant steps, like a solider - to a cabinet next to the fireplace in front of the armchair and removed a crystal decanter from inside. Clicking his fingers, he summoned two glasses from across the room and filled them with a dark, amber liquid. Moving back towards her, he extended his hand to offer her a glass. Hermione eyed it wearily, unsure of what to do. "Just take the damn glass, Granger," he spat, with such venom that she quickly reached out to grab it. He smiled again - she noticed his smile was insincere, cruel, familiar - and moved back to his chair. "I suppose I do look very different. But I was hoping someone as intelligent as you might be able to put two and two together. Though of course, you have been stuck underground in my cellars rotting for a long time, your brain might have melted a little. I did tell Malfoy to take better care of you, but I suppose he has his hands rather full."

"My brain is fine," she snapped, courage surging from an unknown place as it always had when someone insulted her mind. It was the most powerful weapon she possessed, it would never die, never be broken, not even by - _my cellars. _"You're..." she began, heart beginning to pound harder. No, she would keep her cool, she would not die begging or screaming. Last time they had met he had seen her locked away, not killed. Curiousity begged her to find out why, to be brave and stand up to the monster like she should have done all those years ago. _Do this for Harry, for the dead! _"You're Tom Riddle."

A look of dissatisfaction spread across his handsome face at her use of his name. "My name is Lord Voldemort. You would do well to address me correctly, Granger."

"You destroyed my entire world. I'll call you what I like," she replied, calmly. At the reddening of his cheeks, for the first time in years, a smirk settled upon her lips. _Good, the bastard deserves someone to hurt him, even if it's just his feelings. _

"I didn't destroy everything," he replied, chiseled jaw twitching slightly in anger.

"Yes you did, you took everything. Why? Because you're a selfish greedy little-" she was interrupted by the feeling of an invisible force shoving her head backwards into the wall, hard.

"I didn't destroy you," he replied, eyes burning angrily. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't place the right words. Slowly, she got to her feet by holding onto the wall behind her and stood upright, facing him.

"I didn't want this life. I wanted to die, if you remember correctly," she spat, finding strength from nowhere. She pointed her finger towards him. "You did this to me, I wanted to die!" Her eyes caught the sight of her arm, and for the first time since she had been able to see clearly again, she really noticed it. She was filthy, for one, and her bones stuck out through her paper-white, sickly skin due to the lack of fat on her body. Horrified by the gaunt bones of her sparrow's-leg wrist, she looked down at herself. The grey shirt concealed most of her torso, but her legs looked like pencils, apart from her knees which were slightly swollen from kneeling on the hard ground for hours. Countless cuts and bruises marked their territory on her skin - she was like a paper-thin, patchwork dolly, silent and numb on the toy shelf. But she was Hermione Granger - the brightest witch of her age! She wasn't this, this thing, this living dead thing. The sight of her bones caused a reaction she hadn't felt for a very long time - she began to cry. "What's happened to me?" she wept meekly, her voice stunted by breathy sobs. "Wh-what's happened to me?"

She looked up at Voldemort - Tom, whoever this face belonged to - and held up her arms limply. If she believed he could feel anything, she would have thought that pity darted across his face. As hot tears crept down her cheeks, the boy began to walk towards her, smart shoes ending echoes around the cavernous room. Hermione tried to keep a distance, but she was already backed into the wall within a couple of steps. Finally her recovered strength left her, causing her knees to buckle and her to collapse to her knees beneath the towering figure of Tom. Her crushed position was laughable, somehow. _Slave, servant - no, bother to that. I'm no-one's little chew toy. I'm Hermione Granger, no matter what my body looks like. Just like him - he's beautiful, but he's still Voldemort. _

"On my knees for you, Tom. Right where you want me, eh?" she chuckled angrily between sobs, raising her head to glare up at him. He opened his mouth to reply, but she quickly cut him off, sarcastically. "And how might one serve my most glorious master today?"

Tom's eyes darkened. "Alright, stop being stupid," he hissed, taking hold of Hermione's collar and hoisting her to her feet. She found herself unable to stand properly as he tugged her towards the other side of the room and her feet began to drag along the floor. But she still struggled against him, with the feeble strength she had left.

"Let me go, you worthless toad!" she shouted. Well, half-whispered, but it was intended to be a shout. Tom sighed angrily and stopped at a door next to the bed, using his free hand to open it and shove Hermione inside. She clattered to the floor, wincing at the pain of the cold, flat surface. She could tell it was a bathroom by the black and white tiled floor, and when she raised her head she caught sight of a large, glass shower, a sink, a bath the size of a small pool sunken into the floor and, at the end of the room, much to her horror, was an entirely mirrored wall. Another bitter laugh left her lips as she avoided her reflection by turning to face Tom, who had stepped inside and locked the door behind him. "Vain, aren't we, Narcissus?" she said, jerking her head towards the door.

Tom smiled and his eyes flickered to the reflection behind her. "Well, it's a sin to look this good. Might as well appreciate it," he retorted, looking back down at her. Their equally angry gazes met for a moment before he pointed to the elegant bath-pool. "Come on, you look foul."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, unsure of his intentions. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he sighed, moving forward and hoisting her up to her feet by shoving his hand under her armpits. "You smell awful. You are filthy. Get in the bath."

The girl looked at him bewildered, but stepped back from his grip and moved towards the bath. Cleaning herself would be wonderful, she hadn't been able to do so in over a year - and yes, she did smell. Awful. But why was Lord Voldemort offering her a bath? He hated her guts...maybe this was a hint at her 'dirty blood'. Over these past months though, she had grown weary of questioning and fighting absolutely everything - she would fight for her brain and her life. She would not fight for the right not to bathe, just this once. However, if he was planning on killing her in the bath, then there may be a problem. Or maybe he wanted to kill her with his bare hands, and didn't want to get grimy hands? _Shut your brain off, Hermione, and get this muck off yourself. There's no reason to aggravate him, he hasn't done anything yet._ Her fingers ran over one of the many taps surrounding the tub and began to turn one with a red design woven down the spout until she noticed Tom was still lingering behind her. She turned to him and gave him a questioning look.

"You generally turn taps to make them work, Hermione," he said, bluntly, leaning casually against the wall next to the sink, staring her down. She couldn't quite bring herself to look away for a moment, lost in those memorizing black eyes - there were shark-like in a way, definitely predatory. Why was he doing this, why wasn't she dead yet? Or at least crucio'd to insanity?

"Why?" she managed to blurt, trying not to let out every question in her head. Tom raised an eyebrow and pushed himself off the wall. He approached her slowly, never breaking eye contact, until he stood ever so close, too close. A hand, no longer spidery and monstrous stretched out towards her, brushing past the side of her waist momentarily before coming to rest on the tap she had started to turn. She noticed the slight electric that buzzed through her skin at his slight contact. _Don't be stupid. It's just the first touch you've had in years. _The sound of water running into the pool below them broke the strange silence that had settled in the room. Finally, after what seemed like an eon, Tom turned away and began walking towards a small airing cupboard near the shower.

"I have my reasons for getting you out, Hermione. I would just prefer you not to ask 'why' at present," he said, opening the wooden door and pulling out two fluffy red towels. It was strange to see the Dark Lord in the bathroom, it was too...domestic. He strode back towards her and offered the towels, mouth pulling upwards into an odd smile. "But you should know - I'm not going to harm you whilst you're here as long as you respect me."

"But-"

"As long as you respect me and..." Tom sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And just try not to piss me off. Just...do what I say."

Hermione pursed her lips and snatched the towels from his hand, bringing them close to her chest. "And if I do?"

"Then I promise no harm will come to you, you'll have food and drink again. And books."

"Books?" her voice sounded stronger at the very prospect. She had missed books, the chance to learn new things. To prevent losing her mind in that cellar she had re-read everything she could remember from memory. Hogwarts: A History would be forever engrained in her mind the amount of time she had gone over it. _Why would he be doing this? Don't ask, just, don't ask. Live, just try to live for a bit longer. Something good will happen - maybe he'll leave her alone at some point and she would be able to escape? Think later. Assess the room, be patient, wait. Don't ask. _

"Yes, Hermione. Books, for reading," he mocked, in a dumb tone. He flicked his wand towards the rising water in the bath below them and a mountain of white bubbles began frothing on the surface. "Now, get in the bath."

"Yes, fine!" she snapped, brows furrowing. Tom ran a hand through his shining hair and moved back to his position leaning against the wall, folding his arms across his chest casually. Hermione glared at him. "I can't get in whilst you're still here."

"Why not, I'm not stopping you? In fact I'd rather like you to get on with it."

Instantly, the girl paled. _So this is what he wants. Well, it was much worse than death, he'd done well in his torture. _"So. You want me to-."

"Strip," he stated, bluntly.

"You said you wouldn't harm me," she replied, voice beginning to lose emotion again.

Tom frowned at her. "I'm not? I'm offering you a bath."

Hermione threw the towels to the floor and crossed her arms in a similar manner to him. "And I'm not getting in it until you leave me alone."

"Don't be a stroppy little mare, Hermione. I can't quite trust you to be here on your own. Eventually you'll earn my trust and I might give you some space, but for now," he held his hands up and turned to face the wall. "I'll turn around. And that's the best you're going to get."

A snarl almost left her lips but she conceded to his demands. _Okay, reassessing - he doesn't want to sexually assault me. Well, good. _She shed her filthy grey shirt as quickly as possible and lowered herself into the pool. _Oh! _The water felt absolutely beautiful against her skin, the grime of the last two years slowly began to fall away, hot water released the tension in her deteriorating muscles. She let her head dunk under the bubbles and grinned underwater as the hot temperature began to redden her cheeks. It stung, but the sensation almost made her feel as if the dirt were being burnt away. She was fresh, she was new - she would survive. At any cost. She pushed herself off the floor of the pool and out of total immersion, letting out a soft moan as the cool air hit her face. There was a small rim around the gargantuan tub that acted as a seat, which she rested on gently, gathering bubbles in her arms to shield her body from view.

"You know, if you keep moaning like that, I might be inclined to get in there with you," his voice laughed. She had almost forgotten his presence in her euphoria, turning to face him and shrieking when she saw him staring at her, smirking. Her arms reached outwards to bring more bubbles towards her, making sure nothing below her neck could be seen.

"You know, if you keep staring at me, I might be inclined to punch you in the nose," she retorted, smiling slightly. Tom smiled back at her. _Fiery little thing, even after all this. Good._ He strode over to the bath and looked down at her, thrusting his hands in his pockets. After surveying her for a moment, he sat down on the edge of the bath and began to remove his shoes and socks. Hermione immediately moved to the opposite side of the bath, looking at him in alarm.

"Oh, relax," he said, rolling up the legs of his dress trousers until both rests above his knees. She noticed he was still pale, not quite the same paper-white as his former self, but still snowy. He swung his long legs around and sighed slightly when he dropped his calves into the water. "My feet are tired."

Hermione nodded slowly, allowing herself to relax again in the heat of the water. Neither of them spoke for a long time, each enjoying their own sensations until the water began to cool. "What's going to happen to me?" she asked, quietly, looking at him straight in the eye.

Tom glanced at her, his face unreadable. "Nothing bad, if you do what I say."

Hermione winced at his response. "Please, To-" she began, but paused at his stony glare. "Please, Voldemort-"

"Just try, 'my Lord', 'Master' or 'Sir' or something," he replied, darkly.

"Please, _sir," _she began again, stressing the self-given title with sarcasm. "I won't ask anything else. I need to know what you're going to do - I've wanted to die for so long, but I don-"

"I'm not going to kill you."

"Well, what about tort-"

"No."

"Well. Good," she said, exasperated. "Well, what about - I mean - I'm not going to be your..."

At her silence, Tom raised an eyebrow. "My what?"

"Um. Courtesan?" she mumbled, trying to find the most delicate way of saying it.

The boy let out a light laugh, swinging his legs out of the pool. He reached for the towel on the floor and began patting the moisture away. Her eyes traced the muscles in his right calve - they were define, but slender. He seemed constantly tense, always ready to go, to fight, to kill. He looked back up at her and smirked. "Only if you ask me nicely, Hermione. Few people can actually resist this face."

Hermione let out a snort and raised her hand from behind the bubbles. "Could you pass me the other towel, _oh beautiful one?" _she said, rolling her eyes. _Teasing the Dark Lord. Harry would - _No, Harry wouldn't do anything anymore. He was dead. Ron was dead. The so-called 'Light' was dead. She could barely see the difference between the two anymore, there was just grey. Harry and Ron would want her to live. They had forgiven Draco for his association with Voldemort, saving him from the fiery hell that had ripped through the Room of Requirement. Their voices comforted her inside of her head, letting her know that it was _okay._ It was okay to do what it took to survive. Never to lose herself, but to live.

Tom reached across to her and placed the red towel into her outstretched hand.

"There's toothpaste by the sink over there, and a brush. Use the red one," he said, taking his shoes and socks in his hand and getting to his feet. As he as turned away, Hermione darted out of the bath and wrapped the towel around her body, tucking one side under her arm and smirking at him when he turned back. He raised his wand and flicked it lightly. Immediately the bath began to drain and she felt the moisture dissipate from her skin and scalp. Her hair sprang back into life, mad curls finally free of the months of grease that had left them slick and lank. "Much better. You don't look like a house elf anymore."

Hermione held back from a rant about house elf equality and walked to the sink he had motioned to earlier, picking up the toothbrush and slathering a huge wad of paste onto the bristles. The taste of strong mint peppered her mouth, she only now noticed how bad her breath must have been by the disappearing stale taste. After she had finished she turned back to Tom, who pointed towards the door to the main room. Silently, she obeyed, walking to the middle of the room, still holding her towel close to her body.

"I don't have any female clothes yet," he began, pushing past her and sitting down on the edge of his enormous bed. Hermione turned her head and paled as she noted it was the only bed in the room. Luckily the thing was so huge she might never accidentally bump into him, or perhaps she could sleep on the floor? Tom removed his jacket and placed it on the bed, before moving to unbutton his cuffs. "I'll make sure you're brought an array tomorrow. You can wear a shirt for now, that rag you were wearing is far too foul."

"I'm not a dress-up doll," she snapped, unable to handle his arrogance for extended periods of time. The boy ceased his unbuttoning and got to his feet, striding quickly towards her and grabbing her thin throat in his hand and pulling her flush against his chest. She let out a constrained yelp, moving her hands upwards to grasp his wrists. In her panic she had forgotten her grasp on the towel and cried out again as she felt the cool air of the room hit her naked form. Her hands scrabbled down to retrieve the fallen cloth, but Tom's firm grip kept her upright, leaving her gasping to air, and naked as the day she was born.

"If you're going to be ungrateful, then you can wear nothing," he hissed, tightening his grip.

"P-please, T-Tom-" she wheezed, struggling as best she could.

"Don't push me. I told you not to piss me off," he said, finally letting her go and smirking as she clutched at her bruised skin. His eyes raked down her body, nose wrinkling slightly. She was skeletal, all jutting edges and cutting angles. Her skin was clean, yes, and pink from the heat of the water, but it was littered with bruises of black and yellow, scars of red and dull brown. This wouldn't do, he wanted her strong. He was secretly pleased that her mind hadn't lost its fight, a broken Hermione would never do. Listening to her rasping breaths, he moved to a chest of drawers and took out a deep green jumper and a pair of unused boxers, throwing then towards the near-sobbing girl. She scrabbled to pick them up and pulled them on as fast as she could, quietly appreciating the way he averted his gaze from her. He proceeded to undress down to his boxers.

Hermione studied his actions, watching as more and more pale skin was revealed. He was beautiful, she couldn't deny that fact, because it was a fact. His whole body was like the calve she had seen earlier, all sinewy muscle, tension and preparedness. Like a coiled spring, or a snake. The latter definitely seemed more appropriate. His clothes disappeared with a crack as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Finally, he looked back up at her.

"Get in," he ordered, firmly.

She began to protest, but he'd already tucked himself under the covers and turned away from her. There was no point in standing stock still in the middle of the room for any longer, there was no way out now. She moved to the other side of the bed and slipped gently in under the duvet, sighing slightly at the comfort. As soon as her head touched the pillow - soft, clean, smelt like a fresh garden - tiredness overtook her, her eyes could no longer remain open, each muscle emitted their exhaustion with a dull ache. She turned her body away from Tom and pulled the sheets tightly around her body.

"Goodnight Hermione."

She didn't reply, for she had already passed into dreams. And that was the first night she slept next to Tom Riddle Jr.

**More will be explained in the forthcoming chapters - the prelude is just a bit of mystery and context to get started. :) **


	2. Chapter 2

"Wake up."

Hermione's eyes fluttered open to the sound of a deep voice above her. She felt strange, her body wasn't screaming from another night sleeping on the cold, wet ground of the cellars, she felt warm, almost comfortable if it weren't for the slight ache that still ran through her limbs. At first she was unsure of her surroundings, the light that skewered her vision was certainly out of the ordinary. There had never been light before. Perhaps she was dead? As her eyes adjusted, she found herself gazing at a rather handsome, young man who was standing at the side of the bed she was currently situated in. Death himself, perhaps, trussed up to the nines and come to take her away? Suddenly, a rush of memories from the previous evening hit her.

"I'm not dead, then," she mumbled, half to herself, half out loud. The young man raised an eyebrow and snorted, not bothering to answer her. He turned slightly and pointed towards a table that was situated near the armchairs and the fireplace she had noted yesterday.

"Breakfast," he stated.

The top was laden with what looked like enough food to feed an army - scrambled eggs, sizzling, fat bacon, perfectly roasted potatoes, toast, muffins bursting at the seams with dribbling blueberries, jars of preserves and mountains of colourful fruit sat perfectly, as if taken straight from the pages of a show-home magazine. Were it not for the tantalizing smell, she might have thought the display to be fake. But no, there it was, the smell positively overwhelming her, calling to the tastebuds on her tongue. Instantly, her deprived stomach began to rumble and her eyes lit up. She looked to Tom, eyebrows raising hopefully, as if asking for approval to dive head-first into the big bowl of eggs. He smirked and nodded, a laugh escaping his lips as she scrabbled out from underneath the covers and bounded across the bed towards the table. Had her stomach not been threatening to gurgle out of her body, she might have been embarrassed about her actions, and perhaps more wary of his 'kind' intentions. She grabbed a plate and began to laden as much food as possible onto it, savouring the various smells wafting into her nose. After she judged the plate could take no more, she seated herself in a leather armchair and placed her food on the table in front of her. Her Mother had always made scrambled eggs in the same way, positively laced with pepper...As she picked up her knife and fork, she hesitated for a moment; these were _not_ her Mother's eggs - these eggs could be poisoned for all she knew. Laced with cyanide, or-

"You can eat it Hermione, it's not been tampered with," Tom said, sharply, drawing her attention away from the food. She had failed to noticed his presence, now seated in the armchair beside her. Her eyes narrowed slightly, looking back to her plate warily. The man sighed and leaned forwards to pick up her fork, before spearing a portion of scrambled eggs and shoving them in his mouth. He dropped the piece of cutlery and pointed to his mouth, which was now chewing comically. After he swallowed the mouthful, he opened his lips and stuck out his tongue. "Ta da. I'm still alive."

Hermione pursed her lips at his mocking, grabbing her fork back from his side of the table. After another moment of watching the breakfast, she was sure it wasn't going to attack her and she relented. The moment a piece of salty bacon hit her tongue, she was sure she would cry - such tastes had been foreign to her for so long they were amplified tenfold. Without another pause, she tore through the food on her plate, stacking the flavours to make sure she didn't miss anything. Strangely, she noticed a newfound appreciation for tomatoes, she had never liked them before, but now she adored the fresh tang they left in her mouth, the strange _'pop!' _they emitted when she crushed her teeth down on them. Tom watched her intently for a moment, almost disgusted at the rate she was eating, though eventually he turned his eyes up to the ceiling and let out a small sigh. He reached into his pocket and removed a shiny silver case that held his favourite brand of cigarette. Plucking one of the little tubes from its holding, he moved it to his lips and clicked the fingers of his right hand. She noticed that the end of the cigarette burst into flames for a second, before dying down and bubbling into a stream of thick smoke. The man drew in a deep breath, raising his eyebrow at her stares. There was something oddly erotic about smoking, especially when such a good looking fellow was doing it. The way the smoke billowed from his full lips and lingered in the air, dancing in strange shapes, was very sensual, very appealing to watch.

"What are you looking at?" he questioned, smoke tendrils curling out of his mouth as he spoke. Hermione finished a mouthful of buttery toast and dropped the crust onto her plate and moved to pull a napkin from the pile in the centre of the table. She wiped the crumbs from her lips and ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, trying to dislodge rogue pieces of tomato that had become stuck.

"You're not eating?" she asked, voice distorted as she continued to suck at her teeth. She had so many questions for him - why was she here? Why was he being kind to her? Why did he look like this again? But all she could think of in that moment was why he wasn't joining her. If anything it made her a little conscious of the sheer amount she was inhaling.

"No. It's one in the afternoon, I had breakfast whilst you were still sleeping," he replied, placing the cigarette back between his lips. The girl nodded. She relaxed back into her chair, lips shut, but the skin around them moving furiously. After a minute or two, and a raised eyebrow from him, she let out a small cheer of achievement, having managed finally to remove the tomato seeds from between her teeth. She wiped her mouth on the napkin again, before picking up her cutlery once more. The rest of the meal was taken in near-silence, only the sounds of her eating and his slow, smoky breaths pervading the room. She placed her knife and fork across her plate and settled back into the armchair, letting out a satisfied sigh, her hands coming to rest on her now-full tummy. Tom leant forward to stub his cigarette out in an ash-tray that was hidden amongst the piles of strawberries. "So. I suppose you have a number of questions for me, Hermione. Questions a little more important than the contents of my stomach," he said, quietly, eyes flicking to look at her.

Hesitantly, she nodded. "Yes," she said. His statement in the bathroom the night before re-entered her mind. _Don't ask. _"Is that allowed?"

"Not really," he stated, matter-of-factly, leaning forward in his seat. Hermione frowned, lacing her hands together over her stomach. "But I will tell you enough to sate your interest. And then you might start to do what I say without question." Tom removed his wand from his pocket and cast the breakfast items into thin air, settling his forearms on the table in front of him. "You recall the time we last met? Before this room, I mean."

"Yes, in-" her voice grew saddened as the memory entered her thoughts. "-in Hogwarts."

"Yes. And do you recall what you did?" he asked, staring straight into her eyes.

"I ran from the battlefield and tried to kill myself," she replied, her tone emotionless. She did not wish to remember those events any more, the last two years in that cellar had been devoted to scrubbing them from her mind.

"No, before that."

Her expression turned into one of confusion. _She was clever enough to know it was over, she knew he had won. Her wand lowered when she noticed that the Dark Lord hadn't moved, he was standing stock still in the centre of the fight, as if those around him were unaware of his presence. He was staring straight at her through those foul red slits. There was nothing she could do now. He smiled widely, thin lips stretching to non-existence. His smooth voice rang out loudly in her mind, and her mind alone; Look at my madness, Hermione Jean Granger. Isn't it beautiful? _But no, this memory seemed odd to her now, very vague, very misty. It shouldn't be, it was one of the most disturbing moments in her life, it should have been burned in her mind for eternity, not skewed and spotty.

Tom must have noticed her furrowed brow, as he tapped his wand on the table in front of her to get her attention once again.

"You don't know, do you?" he asked, raising a brow. Hermione shook her head silently, unsure of what was happening inside of her head. Tom's gaze moved to her eyes. She noticed they were hard, cold. "Perhaps you might let me show you?"

He raised his wand and pointed it towards her forehead, waiting for her response. at first she jerked, as if to slap it away, but curiosity took hold of her and she couldn't help but nod, eyes focused on the stark, yew tip. _Yew? But, the Elder Wand isn't made of ye- _He uttered something under his breath and a jet of white was sent flying towards her. Instantly, she was transported, the world around her exploding into strange watery patterns and reforming into other shapes. The vision was bizarre, as if someone had poured an ink-pot over her head and she was now watching the black fluid dribbling over her eyes. The world sharpened and adjusted after a moment, and she immediately recognized the scene as the final Battle of Hogwarts. She was standing behind the shoulder of Lord Voldemort, who was watching as chaos was unfurled around him. People were darting everywhere, throwing curses left, right and centre, each one sliding through her as if she were a ghostly apparition. She looked down at her body as a hex shot into her stomach. The skin burst into inky tendrils before lacing back together and reforming into solidity. The effect was amazing, but her attention was soon distracted by the sound of bricks and mortar falling behind her - a stray Reducto had smashed into the walls of the Cloisters, sending a torrent of rubble onto the heads of a small crowd. A scream rang out from the mountain of rock, blood began pooling around her feet. Hermione turned away from the scene, desperately trying not to panic. This was too real, too familiar. The Dark Lord in front of her raised his arms to his sides, a movement she recognized from her own memory. _Look at my madness, Hermione Jean Granger. Isn't it beautiful? _

She looked past him to see herself, standing on the steps of Hogwarts. A bleak, blank expression was painted on her face, her clothes tattered and torn from the war, from the horcrux search and from the blood that had spattered onto her from the dead. This was exactly the same as what she had remembered earlier - except...this Hermione raised her wand towards the Dark Lord, whose eyes widened, startled, as a red curse was sent flying towards him. The Elder Wand was sent flying from his grip, sailing through the air, above the battle, and into the girl's hand. She stood, stock still and shocked as this other version of herself snapped the coveted wand over her knee and threw the two pieces onto the floor. Hermione gaped - why couldn't she remember this? Surely she would remember disarming the Dark Lord, taking his wand - the bloody Elder Wand! The other Hermione began to shake slightly, a strange expression gracing her features. Her eyes had glazed over, a small smile flitted over her lips, as if she were daydreaming of her latest fancy, not standing in the middle of a battleground. The fighting still raged on around this strange scene, no-one seeming to care whose side they were on, who they were killing, or what orders to follow.

A strange sensation began rising in the air, a kind of bubbling, boiling warmth that ran across her skin, making her shudder. At first she couldn't place it, but as the vision in front of her began to skew and burst into blots of ink, she realized it was his rage. Sheer, unadulterated rage that spewed from every pore of his being, being transmitted into her through his memory. _She'd _taken the Elder Wand, his all-powerful wand, and snapped it in two like an everyday twig. Why couldn't she remember this and more importantly, why wasn't she being slowly tortured to death?

Riddle Manor began to fade slowly back into view, as did the handsome wizard sitting opposite her. A slight red flush was covering his sculpted cheeks - he must have been angered by the images he had replayed for her. Immediately she stood up from the chair and braced herself for pain. "W-what was that?" she asked, trembling.

"That, Miss Granger, was what happened," he replied, waving his hand carelessly, motioning her to sit down. "Now that you've seen it, would you like me to explain the details?" Hermione slumped back into the chair, her hand resting under her chin, and nodded, dumbfounded and speechless for once. "You disarmed me, thus making the Elder Wand yours. However, as you saw, you...broke it. When you snapped the wand, the magic had nowhere to go, had no form to stay trapped inside anymore, so it had to look for a new one. The only thing it could recognize was its owner. Do you see where I'm going with this, Miss Granger? The physical wand is beside the point, you have always been an incredibly powerful witch, that much even I cannot deny."

Hermione let the information sink in before replying, slowly. "The Elder Wand, it transferred its magic...to the owner."

"And that would be," he said, pointing his finger at her. "You."

Hermione shook her head and narrowed her eyes in confusion. "B-but what does that mean?"

"It means, you are currently the vessel holding the Elder Magic. You are the holder of the most powerful magic in the world, you're a receptacle, a living wand if you will. And, quite frankly, that irritates me," he spat, looking away from her and towards his pale, folded hands. Hermione opened her mouth to ask another question, but he quickly cut her off. "Not that you ever realised, the magic entered you with such force that your brain was temporarily wiped. I had you put in Malfoy's cellars, but demanded you were never touched. At first I had merely wanted to kill you to release it, to find some way of harnessing it after you passed, but after _months_ of tiresome research into the subject, I learned that if forcefully killed, the magic would simply dissipate. It was a part of you now, it couldn't let you die naturally either - how do you think you survived all these months without ever once getting sick, or starving, or...I had hoped you would die without force, then perhaps the magic would be set free - but you just bloody wouldn't. I couldn't disarm you and take it for myself- there's no wand left to disarm. The Elder Magic seems to have hidden itself away somewhere inside of you, it's not nearly as raw as when you were first locked away. In any case, I'm going to keep you here until I find out a way of separating it from your body and moving it into mine."

Hermione gulped, trying to keep up with his mad story. "Why did you not just leave me down there?" she asked, voice shaking.

"I decided there was no point keeping you down there any more, not when I could study you up close and personally. Plus, I figured that the Elder Magic would become stronger and reveal itself if you were treated better, if you were stronger. And, although I'm not entirely sure of this yet," he paused, looking back at her. "If you were allowed to use magic again. Within supervised intervals, of course."

Hermione's brows raised so high he thought they might shoot straight off her face. "But, what...I mean, how do you know- I don't know wha-." She couldn't find the right words to say, she didn't know what was going on.

Tom let out an irritated sigh and leant backwards against his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "Look, I'll make it simple. You have something inside you I want. I have no idea how to get it out at present. You will be remaining here until I find a way to do so."

"And then?" she asked.

"And then I'll kill you," he stated, simply, as if that were the only obvious conclusion. "You'll no longer be of any use."

"Right," she replied, numbly, looking down at her hands. No tears came into her eyes, this was the fate she had been expecting since learning of her residence with Lord Voldemort. He still didn't know how to remove this 'Elder Magic' from her body, however, she still had time, she still had an opportunity to find a way out. _Be patient. Learn what you can from him, then get out. Reducto the damn door off, blow the Manor apart, fly fly away. _

Tom smirked at her, pleased that she hadn't put up too much of a fight against his battering of information. "Do you understand everything, Hermione?" he asked, buttoning up his suit jacket and getting to his feet. The girl nodded silently, not looking at him. "Good. I will be out of this room on certain occasions during the daytime, today being one of them. A lord has to attend to his kingdom, after all. You are free to explore this floor, there are a series of connecting rooms through that door by the piano. You can't leave through the red door at the end of the corridor, it's warded. You obviously know where the bathroom is, clothes for you are in the wardrobe and food can be summoned by shouting for the house elf, Oona. Try to eat a lot - you look like a Thestral," he said, as if reciting orders rather than words of care. He ran a hand through his glossy curls, turning towards the door that led to the hallway, stopping momentarily to turn back to her. "You'll be comfortable here, if you allow yourself to be. I don't see the need to harm you at present, but don't try my patience. We both know I can be cruel. I will be home at around seven for dinner. Any further questions?"

"I-" her mind was still reeling from all the information. There was still one question she needed an answer for - and it was the stupidest, brainless thing she could think of. "Do I get my own room?" _Because I'm not sleeping next to my jailer every night. _

Tom smiled widely, perfect teeth bared like a sick Cheshire Cat, and cocked his head. "No."

"But I don't want to live with you all the time! You said you wanted me to be comfor-."

"No. I said you could be comfortable if you allowed yourself to be. I need to keep an eye on you, mudblood. The presence of your magic is somewhat insatiable to someone as powerful as me, even if it's weakened at the moment. You'll take dinner with me, you'll talk to me, you'll sleep next to me," he snarled, his anger finally snapping at her insolence. Hermione was perturbed by how much his anger had changed over the years - before he had been the type to throw a Crucio at any given moment, not to care about life in any way. Now he was much quieter, she could never tell what would push him over the edge or how he would react. His violence towards her so far had certainly been more...hands on and physical, magic had barely been involved. The ghostly feeling of his hands around her neck made her shudder silently. She winced as he moved very close to her and a filthy smile crept over his lips. "Never know, Miss Granger, play your cards right and I may even fuck you, the world is your oyster."

Hermione scowled, moving her hands to his chest to shove him away, angered by his mocking tone. His long fingers wrapped around her wrists before she could push him, pulling her closer to his chest. Those big, dark eyes looked down at her strangely - the emotion she glimpsed from them flitted between playful and angered every other second. That foul smirk resumed its place and he leaned in closer to her, lips almost brushing her cheek as he moved towards her ear. "Tom, get off me! Let go, you madman!" she cried, trying to pull away from his iron grip and failing. He held her tighter, causing her to yelp. He found himself liking the sound and her close proximity, but it was her fear that was intoxicating.

"You know what, I actually don't mind the name Tom when it comes from your lips, Hermione. Though, madman...a little weak, don't you think?" he hissed, full lips ghosting over the rim of her ear. "Maybe later you'll learn to put them to better use. I do so like a girl with fight."

The girl in his arms shuddered and shut her eyes, trying to think about something else, anything else that wasn't his closeness, his words. It seemed odd to her that Tom Riddle might be an alluring presence - his handsome features and musky, earthy scent certainly overpowered her senses at the moment. If she didn't look at him, he was still Voldemort, but when he was in full view - as that beautiful figure - it was hard to recognise the two personas as the same man. "Let me go," she whispered, fear oozing through her words.

Tom released her hands from his grip, but remained very close to her, straightening his back and adjusting his suit jacket slightly. _So, this is how to best keep her in line. _He smiled down at her and moved his hand to gently brush a fly-away curl behind her ear, fingers lingering on her soft cheek before withdrawing. "Be a good girl and maybe I won't kill you at the end of all this. Maybe I'll keep you." His words and touch made her skin crawl, but she still couldn't bring herself to run and lock herself in the bathroom. Fear forced her to stay. Fear, and an element of curiosity. His smiled widened, if possible. "Learning already. Now, I must go and attend to some matters. Have a pleasant day, try not to miss me too much, Hermione."

As he left he noticed how much he enjoyed fucking with her.

The bedroom-cum-sitting room was only a small part of what she discovered was essentially an entire house spread out across one floor. A single corridor, with paneled wooden walls and a dark red carpet ran down the centre of the apartment, with ten oak doors leading off to separate rooms. At the very end of the hall was a single, red door - the exit. She didn't even bother to try it. The door opposite her revealed a study, messily covered in notes, each written in that same neat script she recognized from the diary from second year. Stacks of papers filled every possible space, she could barely walked two steps past the door. She'd accidentally bumped into a rather large pile to her right and immediately shuffled to the door as it began to topple over. Closing the door behind her, she let out a small chuckle at the sound of the paper stacks crashing to the ground like dominoes. The next room was a library, grand, huge, beautiful. She bit her lip as she ran her hands over the spines of the books, this feeling was familiar, sheer excitement and joy forgotten from years of silent darkness. She decided to calm herself and removed only a single, heavy tome from the shelves, a book she had been yearning to read in her last year at Hogwarts. _The Runic Problem. _With that, she quietly left the library, and returned to the sitting room, vowing to continue her search of the place later...once she'd finished reading.

When Tom returned for dinner, she was lying on the bed on her tummy, book propped against a pillow in front of her for optimum reading comfort. The young Dark Lord snorted at her, and immediately headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind him - she was so involved in her text she barely noticed his presence until she saw his shirtless figure walk into her eye line. _He certainly has admirable shoulders - stop it Hermione. He's an arse and he's only keeping you alive for his convenience. _

They took dinner together, speaking only of perfunctory things, such as the book she was reading, what they thought about certain spells and hexes, moments in wizarding history. He never spoke of current affairs or the world outside of the apartment - it was as if he was concocting a little bubble for the two of them, keeping her blind to his monstrosities whilst cultivating her mind in other areas.

Days passed, sometimes Hermione would be left alone, sometimes Tom would stay with her. She still rarely saw him during the day, as he would lock himself in his study, trying to sort that mountain of work she had knocked over during her first exploration. Occasionally sounds of triumph or anger would meet her ears as she walked past, always making her worry that he had finally managed to work out how to extract the Elder Magic. _Will he ever find out? What if he never finds out?_

When he was around, she hated to admit it, he was amicable. She found herself almost enjoying his company. _Stockholm Syndrome. Has to be. _His intellect challenged hers, they sparred their wits against one another, the discussed, they argued, they philosophized...she guessed he enjoyed her company too. Every day, before she would climb out from under the duvet on the opposite side of the bed to him, she would ask;

"Tom, are you going to kill me today?"

To which he would reply, with a smile. "I still need you, maybe tomorrow."

Books had consumed her as weeks turned into months. She had given up on exploring other rooms, as many had been locked, so she took to finding a cosy spot in the library until Tom came to retrieve her for supper. There was one final door she hadn't tried, and finally, one day, she approached it. She had grown bored, Tom hadn't been around all day, her eyes were growing tired and it was very, very late. Something in her head told her to wait for him to come home, to make sure he was okay. _Find something to do. _Her hand curled around the door-knob, smiling in surprise as she found it unlocked.

The final room was an enormous hall filled with a large, shining ebony dining table and matching chairs. The ceilings were sky-high, and in a similar fashion to the Great Hall, a scene was reflected in a composed atmosphere above her. At present, it was a twinkling night-scape. A number of candelabra graced the table, along with china plates and shining silver cutlery. It was unnerving, that silent, empty dining room, as if the places had been laid but the guests had never arrived. It was the picture of loneliness. She couldn't quite work out who was lonelier - herself, or Tom. After all, he owned this dusty, barren place, had nobody ever graced these beautiful seats, had no-one ever taken dinner or chatted to friends here? Hermione moved further into the room, shivering slightly at the sound of her footsteps echoing from wall to wall, and took a seat at the head of the table, placing her book atop the wood. She took a deep breath and sat back into the chair.

_Elder Magic. What on earth have I done? _

She traced small circles into the table, shutting her eyes tiredly. In her head she imagined her friends and family sat in the seats around the table, celebrating something, some random holiday, anything. _Harry would be smiling shyly at Ginny across the table, nudging his glasses nervously up his nose, Ron and the Twins would be arguing over something or other. Mrs Weasley would be loading plates with food, cramming as much as possible into every empty space. Her husband would be smiling widely, just happy to be with family. Tonks would be amusing Sirius by transforming her features in Mad-Eye's visage, whilst Lupin sat quietly chucking in the corner, almost afraid to be as raucous as his friends. Mrs and Mr Granger would be bemused, after all they were so separate to the wizarding world, but in good spirits, their eyes shining with pride at their mad, magical daughter. _A tear ran slowly down her face, rolling over the curve of her cheek and slipping into her smile. It tasted salty. Wearisome, she rested her head against her shoulder and allowed herself slipped further into her dreamland.

"_Ronald, will you please use a napkin!"_

"_But, 'Mioneeeeee."_

"_Hermione, could you pass the pepper?" another voice piped up beside her. She looked away from Ron to the other side of the table, to see - _

"_Tom?" she asked, confused. Why was he here? He didn't belong here. The handsome man smiled genuinely at her, one of his hands reaching out to lace with hers. She gaped at him, pulling away. A hurt look crossed his face. _

"_Just pass him the bloody pepper, 'Mione," Ron moaned. Tom laughed loudly and Ron grinned at him, before both turned back to Hermione, their eyes sparkling with humour. _

"Hermione?"

The girl in question stirred slightly.

Tom sat back in the dining chair, sighing, despite a small smile forming around his mouth. He had arrived back around ten minutes ago and searched the house high and low before finding her slumped across the head of the table, fast asleep. He'd sat down next to her and now regarded her through curious eyes. Such a tiny little thing to hold so much power - why hadn't her body burst as soon as the Elder Magic entered her? How did she have the capacity, he thought only the greatest purveyors of magic would be capable of such a feat - even Dumbledore had required a wand to channel the Elder Magic, he had never dared to merge himself with the raw material. He himself had initially thought of placing the extracted magic into his own wand rather than his mind - _how had she done this?_

He rested his chin against his hand and leaned slightly further toward her. She had certainly caught his interest in terms of magical power, it was only now, as she was sleeping with her mouth wide open on his dining room table, that he really _looked at her._

Those mad curls were like an explosion, but he couldn't imagine any other sort of hair donning her head. Her skin was smooth, though sickly looking from years underground. Plump lips, big round eyes, fragile looking. Everything about her looked delicate, but he knew she was far from breakable, after all she'd been through, she hadn't crumbled, her mind was still intact. Strange thing. _And I suppose she is fairly attractive, in an innocent sort of way. _

He tried calling her name again, but she merely let out a low moan and shuffled slightly in her seat. Tom sighed and got to his feet, unsure of what to do with her. It was around one in the morning, he could hardly just leave her here, more to keep an eye on her than for her own comfort. He approached her chair and gently moved her arms underneath her knees and behind her back, lifting her easily. It was almost alarming how little she weighed, like a baby bird clipped and broken. As he walked into the main bedroom and turned to shut the door behind him with his shoulder, Hermione mumbled something undecipherable.

"Hermione?" he whispered, pausing his motions and looking down at the body in his arms. Again, she mumbled, but this time she gently nuzzled into his chest, her small hands clutching his slightly loosely. Tom raised an eyebrow, slightly startled by her actions. Quickly, he moved to the bed and lowered her onto her chosen side, sitting down with the motion to avoid waking her. Hermione's grip on him didn't relinquish so he moved his hands to pry her fingers away. She let out a soft cry and Riddle sighed, unsure of any further action. "Bugger it," he said, in hushed tones. Swiftly he kicked off his shoes and swung his legs up onto the bed, before lying down next to her. They had slept near each other countless times, but now, even fully clothed, this proximity to her made Tom uneasy. Her hands were still pressed against his chest, not pushing him away, but soft, caring. He forced himself to think no further of Hermione, but to focus on how tired he felt, how much his limbs ached, how evenly she breathed and how soft she felt as he wrapped his arms around her waist...


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thanks for the reviews guys - don't worry, Hermione is no Bella Swan. In fact, this story is about to get a lot darker. Writing this chapter was really difficult for me - but I promised one 'love' Tom (Bedlam) and one 'hate' Tom. Here is 'hate' Tom - he's about to lose his cool majorly. **_

They slept together comfortably, her hands clutching his shirt until she sunk deeper into sleep and let him go, his right arm draped over her waist, pulling her slightly closer to his chest when he realised he enjoyed the feeling of her soft, even breath hitting the bare skin of his neck. They remained motionless until dawn, and sunlight began streaming under Tom's eyelids. He unraveled their bodies from each other and moved to the edge of the bed, pushing himself off onto the floor. He turned his head to take in her sleeping form one last time, shook his head, then headed for the breakfast table.

Her actions the previous evening confounded him, for reasons he could not fathom. Her tiny little body had been so soft, she had clung to him like a baby - why? He was not a figure of comfort, or at least he shouldn't be - he was Lord Voldemort. Yes, he had a pretty face, but he was still the most powerful wizard known to wizarding kind. Why then, had this pathetic little Mudblood found peace in his arms? How had she slept in his embrace so easily? Why had he gotten up in the morning and poured two cups of breakfast tea, the blend she preferred instead of his usual Earl Grey? He had begun to add milk before he remembered he abstained from dairy for his skin. It wasn't vanity - just common sense. His hand stilled around the little china jug, only a drop of milk plummeting into the cup. A strange white sheen settled throughout the amber liquid, like blood spreading throughout water, it left strange veins, strange shapes, he couldn't help watch with wide eyes, he couldn't help but dream of -

He dreamt of skin. Pale, milky white skin that felt so warm under his hands. He'd greedily run his fingertips over her arms and her neck as she'd slept, flitting briefly under her night shirt before stopping himself. He'd abstained from more than just milk. Women, wiles and sex were not appropriate, they got in the way. The two main female presences in his life were hardly good influences on him; his Mother, the love poisoner, and Bellatrix, a simple follower maddened with power and lusting after blood and sex - preferably together. Her arranged marriage was little more than a farce, a joining of purebloods who were left over when all the good options had gone. He realises that he has wanted to fuck her ever since he forced her to take a bath. She was so cold, controlled, calm. He wanted her to be his, he wanted to push himself into that soft body and make her his.

They'd spent around 8 months together now. This was the first time she had ever really shown any sense of ease around him, usually she spent her days avoiding him as much as possible and sleeping as from from him as she could. His Elder Magic research was dwindling, there was little left to find out, but the information he had recovered so far was useless. He had realised this a month ago, but found he still hadn't wanted to kill her. _Fuck sake, what's wrong with you, Tom?_ He told himself it was because he'd have the Elder Magic one day, he'd find out how to extract it _one day. _It was not because of the way the water clung to her skin when she emerged from the shower, or the way her hands caressed the cover of a book like a lover's hand, or the way she smiled at him when he taught her something new. A small voice urged him to kiss her, it had for months. He could just put his hand into that frizzy mess, pull her against his chest and bruise her lips with his own. He could bite down, draw blood and taste her. He could strip her naked and run his tongue along that skin he craved so, lingering on the areas that caused her to moan. He could bend her over his desk and beat that delicious backside of hers until it was red and sore for being such an irritant. He could shove his cock deep into her throat, or keep her bent over and fuck her from behind, so rough that she couldn't move for days-

The jug shattered on the floor as it left his hand, the white liquid bursting across the dark wood at his feet in a stark contrast. He let out a shaky breath. _What is wrong with you, Tom? _He caught sight of himself in the mirror - still wearing the black trousers and white shirt from yesterday. They were creased and wrinkled from where he had slept in them, not wanting to disturb her. He hated that...mess. He had always thought of sex as messy - he'd tried it once or twice at Hogwarts, times that he been purely a means to an end, sex was never something he had never thought of as something desirable. But now his entire body ached, he just wanted to - _What is WRONG with you, Tom?_

His head snapped up from the mess at his feet - he hadn't referred to himself as Tom in many, many years. Why now? It had to be her - he knew she called him Tom in her head, he had heard her. He turned to face the sleeping girl on the bed, his fingers curling up into fists. This wasn't good at all. He adored the way her face was peaceful as she slept, the way she looked so relaxed, beautiful. That tiny little body, how did it manage to hold such great magic? He tensed, pushing his shirt sleeves up past his elbows and ran a hand through his mussed tresses. _Just kill her. Just fucking kill her. Blast the magic, you're supreme without it. She's playing with your thoughts, you're starting to enjoy her company, you'r-_

"Morning, Tom."

Her voice distracted him from his thoughts. He looked back towards her, watching her gently rub the sleep from her eyes and prop herself up on a stack of pillows. Her hair was always so wild in the morning, it frizzed out around her face like a lion's mane. It surrounded features hardly worthy of a lion, she smiled softly, kindly, _at him._ How dare she think this kindness would save her? Did she assume that being _nice _would win him over, make him fall for her? Because no, NO, Tom Ridd- _Voldemort - _did not care. He did not fuck. He did NOT consume dairy.

"Are you okay?" she asked, yawning slightly.

"Why are you doing this?" he hissed, almost to himself.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

Tom clenched his jaw tightly, rage building to intolerable levels. Even as a boy he had had problems with his anger, lashing out at the other orphans whenever they riled him, hurting other students, his followers. But not like this, this rage was far from the complicated, torturous rage that had affected him during his younger years. This was simple, base, animal. All he wanted to do was lunge towards her and rip that kindness, that comfort out of her skin with his bare hands. He wanted her heart, disgusting and dripping and pounding in his fist. He wanted her screaming and crying and coming on his -

"Tom, please calm down," the girl from the bed whispered. His gaze flickered from the floor back to her. She had evidently noticed his anger, those big brown eyes of hers were wide with fear, her hands were fisting the sheets nervously. "Please. I don't know what you mean, I-I'm not doing anything."

"Are you afraid of me?" he snapped, turning his body to face her fully. She jumped, the covers slipping down her body to reveal her torso. She was only clothed in a thin white night dress, he could see the outline of her waist, the curve of her breasts..._Calm down, Tom. _

"I-"

"Are you afraid of me?" he repeated, bluntly. "Right now. Are you?" Hermione nodded, shakily. "Right, and what about last night? Were you afraid of me last night?"

The girl hesitated, her lips twitching nervously. Her silence told him all he needed to know.

Tom let out an aggravated cry and turned away from her, running both hands through his hair and clutching the curls tightly between his fingers. "But I'm Voldemort, I'm Lord fucking Voldemort!" he screamed. Angrily, he whirled back around, storming closer to the bed. Hermione crawled as far back into the pillows as possible, terrified of the pitch black eyes boring into her. "You are meant to fear me, always. I'm going to be the man to end your life, after all."

"But only when the Elder Mag-"

"I don't fucking care about the Elder Magic!"

Hermione flinched. This was bad, incredibly bad. She had never seen him so angry, angry enough it seemed to forget about his primary goal. _No, no, no! I need to live! _

"Tom, please, I-" she began.

"Don't call me Tom," he replied, tone bristling with fury. "I'm not blasted Tom. How dare you call me that? How dare you cuddle me and coddle me like I'm some sort of soppy, wet boyfriend? I'm your captor, you should fucking well treat me as such."

They watched each other in silence for a moment, taking in the emotions of their opponent. Tom let out a shaky breath and sat down on the end of the bed, turning away from her. He slumped slightly, holding his head in his hands and leaning his elbows against his knees. A wave of sadness swept over Hermione - this man had some serious problems. This rage seemed to be based entirely on her showing him kindness, being easy around him and...holding him? She had never had the inclination to do such a thing usually - what had made her do that? Certainly, the sadness that overwhelmed her in the dining room was a factor, for a brief moment she had felt so alone, so without love, or kindness - and Tom, despite his detrimental role in her life, was glad of his presence. She had clutched at him greedily, wanting physical contact, wanting something close to intimacy, if only for the night. Never did she dream that he would be affected by her actions, she thought he might just tick her off slightly, but put her silliness down to a temporary madness. It was Hermione who moved next. Reaching her hand forward, she gently curled her fingers around his shoulder and shook him slightly.

"I'm really sorry, To- My Lord. I was a bit confused, it will never happen again," she said, quietly, a small smile playing around her lips. It couldn't happen again, she couldn't possibly make him think that she was fawning over him, that he was anything more than a foul murderer who had locked her away.

Tom turned his head back to look her her. He could smell her, taste her on his tongue. She noticed the rage that contorted Tom's handsome face had changed, his eyes now sparkled dangerously, he had crept closer to her, he was breathing deeper. His expression had changed to one of lust. She opened her mouth to calm him, but was cut off when his mouth crashed against her, pushing her back down into the mattress. He moved his body over hers, grinding his hips on top of her, keeping her pinned. She squawked and pressed her hands against his chest, turning her head to the side to escape his lips. His hands moved to hold her head in place, tightly fisting in her hair. His low moan echoed in her mouth, causing her to flinch and instinctively bite down hard on his bottom lip. Tom yelled and pulled away from her, hand flying to touch the bloody mark on his face, a look of surprise covering his face. Taking her chance, she darted out of the bed and ran for the door to the hallway. Tom let out a snarl and reached for her, but was cut off when the door slammed shut in his face. She ran down the corridor, unsure of her following actions - where could she go, where was safe? He knew every hiding hole in this place, for sure, and there was no way out. Hermione settled on doing what she usually did - heading to the library. She heard the bedroom door swing open just as she entered another door, not stopping to look back for fear of being caught.

"Hermione!" Tom's shout rang out through the many rooms. Her heart was pounding furiously against her chest. _Need to hide, need to hide. _Desperately, she ran through the many bookshelves, before tucking herself in the 'E' aisle, between 'Elegant' and 'Elephant'. She tried to calm her breathing, aware that panicking would only have her found sooner. Footsteps from the doorway indicated his close presence. He called out her name again, voice echoing around the silent library. The man kept chanting her name, getting angrier and angrier, before a loud crashing sound reached her ears. _What on Earth?_

Another crash.

And another.

Hermione, now allowing herself to panic, poked her head out from around the bookcase, eye widening in horror. Tom had blasted the two 'A' bookcases at the front of the library with a Reducto charm, which had sent them lurching backwards into 'B', then 'C'...like giant, crushing dominos. Hundreds of crashing echoed throughout the room, as heavy tomes began to fall from their places onto the wooden floor below. The noise was getting closer and closer, until she turned to see the shelf above her begin to lean. Books started falling from their shelves on top of her - _reveal myself to Tom, or die? I suppose death by book is fairly apt..._

But instinct told her to run. Just as the shelf toppled further, she dashed out, narrowly avoiding a whole section of Encyclopedias that thudded heavily behind her. Relief washed over her as she stood panting in the now-dust covered aisle between the two rows of fallen bookshelves. Her peace was interrupted only seconds later by the feeling of rough material slithering around her body. She looked down to see ropes encasing her body, winding around her wrists and ankles, locking each together. Through the dust, she could make out Tom, wand raised, heading towards her. She screeched, fighting her bonds to no avail. The man reached her, a twisted smile plastered on his handsome face.

"Are you afraid now?" he asked, quietly. Hermione let out another scream, thrashing her arms at him and kicking her bound legs out like a snake when he reached down to grab her. She managed to catch his knees in her fight, knocking him to the ground. Her triumph was hardly for the best, she realised, when Tom moved to straddle her thrashing body with his, planting his knees either side of her hips. He pointed his wand at her throat and thrust the point hard into her skin. "Stop fucking moving, Hermione."

She only managed to let out a shaking sob, but her actions did cease. "W-what are you going to do, Tom?" she wept, almost unable to speak through her tears.

His instant reply was a hard slap to her left cheek. Pain spread like fire over her skin, the force sending her head spinning to the side. She let out a surprised gurgle, looking up at him, shocked. "Don't call me Tom," he said, coldly. One of his hands moved to clamp around her neck, not hard enough to block her air supply, but enough to keep her still, whilst the other grasped his wand and cast away the bindings on her feet. Uncertain of his intentions, she panicked, and began to roll her body underneath him. It was only then she felt it - his hardness pressing into her stomach. She stilled, eyes widening in confusion. _I've never been this close to a man, to anybody, before. _Tom smirked down at her, squeezing her neck gently. "Are you afraid?" he asked, again.

Stubborn and as Gryffindor as ever, she glared up at him. In her heart she wanted to beg him to stop, but the words wouldn't come out. She wouldn't beg, _I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Be brave, Harry was brave. _

"What are you doing?" she asked, panic evident in her rushed words. "To-what are you doing? Get off me, get off!"

She struggled harder against his, pushing her tied hands against his chest as he lowered his face closer to hers. He was like rock, immoveable, all hard sinew and muscle. The intense glare in his eyes ordered her to stop her writhing - she couldn't help but comply as he grew closer and closer, until his face was only an inch from hers. He gripped her chin in his long fingers, forcing her to look at him.

"You almost had me last night, almost had me believing that you weren't afraid. Simpering in my arms and acting like you-" he paused, brow furrowing. He motioned with his wand again and the dress she was wearing tore down the centre, baring her skin for his viewing pleasure. _Uh, that skin. _Hermione whimpered, and as she shut her eyes, a tear dripped from behind her eyelids, staining her cheek. He reached down and tore her bra from her shoulders with inhuman strength, before casting it aside. _Crying, little baby? Good. _

"Acting like what?" she asked, in a hushed tone. She couldn't open her eyes, if she shut them then nothing was happening, everything would be fine. She could picture being back at Hogwarts, having dinner with Harry and Ron, laughing with Hagrid and doing stupid, normal things.

"Acting like you cared," he snapped, prompting her to open her eyes in surprise. _Cared? About him? _"Don't look so bloody confused. You held onto me like a baby, you fucking _cuddled. _You dare to do that to me? I'm Lord Voldemort! I'm the Dark Lord!" His eyes were sizzling, a madness poisoned his speech and his hands began to roughly grope at her breasts. He had never been gentle, as a boy he had broken every toy the Orphanage Matron had provided, and he didn't intend to start now. _I'll teach her, I'll show her I'm Voldemort, not fucking Tom. How does she do this to me? I'll never be Tom, never ever ever..._

He let out a growl and ran one hand up her side to fist her mad curls. As she let out a cry he raised his hips a little and flung her over onto her front, before sitting firmly back down on her thighs to prevent escape. He pulled her head back, making her arch her back painfully towards him. "I'm not your Tom. No more pleasantries, no more nice, polite, patient Tom. That magic will stay inside you no matter what, no matter how you're treated - look at the last few years - from now on I'll do as I please." He almost felt as if he were reasoning with himself for what he was about to do. A tiny little voice piped up in his head. _You've hurt people, but you've never raped before, Tom. It'd be a new low. _He silenced the voice easily, used to cutting off his already limited emotions. _It's not rape. She's practically begging you to do it ,Tom. She held you. _

He let go of her hair and she fell forward, screaming again as she felt him tear the remaining piece of her dress away and she lay only in the plain white knickers he had provided for her. Every sentence she uttered begged him to stop, to let her go, but nothing seemed to deter him from his course. When he finally wrestled her underwear down her kicking legs, he let out a groan.

"You know, I've dreamt of this, but your arse really is better than I ever thought it would be," he murmured, bringing his hand down on her right cheek. Hermione yelped at the sting, trying to twist her body back to face him. His fingers wrenched her hair back up towards him, lips gently teasing her neck. "Tell me you're afraid."

"I hate you!" she hissed, trying to distract him from his motions. His hand slaps her backside again

"That's reciprocal," he snarled back, leaning towards her.

Hermione shuddered as his lips touched down on the skin behind her ear. "I'm afraid," she whispered. It was the truth, she couldn't help but admit it, she was terrified. She felt Tom smile into her neck.

"And what are you afraid of?" he replied, teasingly. His hand slid down over her buttocks, fingernails dragging into her skin. A breathy sigh escaped his lips when his fingers reached her cunt. His hand finds it way inside of her, thrusting unceremoniously inside of her, curling, pressing, deeper and deeper. She feels his hate, his desire and it makes her want to vomit.

"That you're going to hurt me," she replied, gasping as his fingers touched her. "Please, stop."

But he didn't. He chuckled darkly in her ear and stroked her with his fingers, causing another shudder to run down her spine. Her body betrayed her and a liquid stuck to his invading fingers. Pleased, he hissed "I don't think you want me to."

Something in Hermione snapped as he taunted her, removing his wet hand from her cunt and shoving his fingers into her mouth. Fear turned into panic, panic into rage. _Mad man!_

"Yes, I do! Doing this isn't going to make me afraid of you, Tom Riddle!" she screamed, kicking her legs again. "It's only going to make me hate you! You don't do this, you torture, you kill, not this, Tom!"

"Shut up, shut up!" he shouted, slamming her head repeatedly into the ground. His hand thrusts harder back into her, hurting her. "I do this now, you've brought it all upon yourself. I'll make you afraid, I'll make you afraid, I'll make you subdue."

Finally, he removed his hand, giving her slight relief. She cannot help but feel terror enter her heart as he started babbling nonsensically, hand now pushing blood-soaked head into the floor, holding her tightly, whilst the other reached for his belt buckle. Hermione had grown limp in his hands, she just closed her eyes and let her mind wander. Ecstatically, Tom moved his trousers and boxers past his hips and forced her legs apart with his knees.

"I hope this hurts," he hissed.

The next few minutes were a flurry of sense. She could feel the skin of her cheek scraping against the wooden floor, there was the smell of sweat, the tangy, metallic taste of her own blood, the sound of Tom panting as he eased himself inside of her. There was pain, but not as much as she had expected. It surprises and angers her, it is as if he fitted her perfectly. A scream bubbled in her chest, but never left. He was rutting against her, thrusting his hips hard and deep - from the sounds he emitted, groans and gasps, he was certainly enjoying himself. The noises made her want to throw up. She jerked her hips upwards, trying to push him off her, but her motions only brought him deeper inside her.

"That felt amazing, come on Hermione, fight. Fight for me," he panted, lips slicking over her ear again.

"Fuck you!"

"Feisty, attractive quality in a woman."

_I'll kill you later, _they both thought.

He moved out of her, pausing momentarily to flip her onto her back. The back of her head clattered against a pile of fallen books, sending another wave of pain to course through her. She found herself unafraid as she looked up at him, him with his eyes narrowed but shining with pleasure and victory. _No victory here, Tom. _His shirt was sticking to the sweat on his body, his hair was wild from the many times he had run his hands through it. He was disturbingly beautiful, unnatural almost. He pushed himself inside of her again, leaning forward to place his hands either side of her head. Hermione wasn't going to allow him an easy ride, ever refusing to submit, however, and constantly clawed at his face, aiming to jab his eyes. Eventually Tom grew irritated with her and threw her arms back down beside her head, gripping her wrists with each of his hands, pressing her back down into the floor. His hips quickened, thrusting far harder than before, hard enough to make her body jolt with each movement. Gleefully, he pressed his lips to the side of her cheek, moving one of his hands down to pinch around her clit. He moved to kiss her throat again, biting softly at first, then with more force. Soft caresses move down her chest, his lips enclose around the centre of her breast and he began circling his tongue around her nipple. He's not as rough as he was anymore, as if he were looking for a response from her. _Fat chance of that._ It lasts for a long time, it feels like hours to her. She continues to squirm, pushing him away and then - there is a tension, a new kind of pain that she doesn't recognize for a moment. It builds in her lower belly, she feels as if she might actually be sick. This was the first time Hermione let out a yell - because she could finally feel it coming. It wasn't right at all, she hated herself for feeling this way, but she couldn't deny the familiar sensation rising in her stomach. The slight pain had left his relentless pounding, her body was reacting to him like a lover, not a psychopath. She begins to scream, pinching him with her one free hand until he pins her again, bucking her hips, cursing him as loudly as she could.

"Please," she ground out, hoarsely. "Stop."

Tom chuckled in her ear, biting down on her tender lobe. His fingers quickened, along with his thrusting, causing pleasure to ripple up and down her spine. He released her from his grip and let out another groan of satisfaction, placing his hands under her backside and angling her hips upwards. She places her hands back on his chest as he leans over her, pressing him away.

"Fuck, if I had known you'd feel this good I would have done this the first night you came here," he gasped. The clawing at his chest turns into a desperate hold, as she tried not to fall over the edge. _Please, no! Haven't you hurt me enough? _The first wave of physical pleasure washed over her, then another, as Tom sends her into a maddening orgasm. She shakes, breathless and trembling, her body reveling and sweating - but her lips sealed so as to not make a sound. _He can never ever know what he did to me. _

He loves the way she fights, the way she clings to him in a totally different manner to the night before. _Mine. _He notices the way her breathing changes and her body stiffens. She's hurting him, her nails scratch his chest - he makes a note to punish her later - right now he doesn't care. She inhaled deeply underneath him, her grip on his chest turning from pain into clinging for dear life. A pleasant change from the beating. His eyes widened when he feels the rhythmic clenching, the squeezing. For a moment he is confused, but quickly realises what is happening, a grin spreading across his face. _She's fucking coming. I knew it!_ His hands moved to hold her hips tightly, as he slammed harder into her, riding out her orgasm. He looked down to see her face smothered in tears, twisting into pained expressions with the occasional gasp of pleasure. I've won. Mine, mine, mine. In his gloating victory, he leant forwards and spat at her, saliva splattering over her cheek grotesquely.

"I win. I fucking win, Mudblood," he panted, body shuddering as he started to finish. His cock quivered again, so he withdrew from her, holding himself in his hand and coming over her stomach. He collapsed against her chest, spent, but pleased with himself.

They both lay still amongst the rubble, two messy bodies entwined. She couldn't move, she felt numb. He couldn't move, he felt fucking exhausted. He felt unable to lift a limb, let alone get up. He notices the way their hearts beat hard, in time. Their pants eventually subside and Tom begins to move. He turns over, looking up at the ceiling, pulling his trousers and underwear back to their rightful position. He feels giddy, excited. _That was fucking good, Mudblood. And you enjoyed it too._

"We'll do this again sometime, Mudblood," he said, happily, a grin spreading over his face as he sat up. "You're a pretty good fu-."

He instantly forgets where his sentence was going when he finally claps eyes on her. She is still in the same position, on her back, unmoving, with her legs spread. Liquid stains the floor below her, cum, sweat and blood. Her big brown eyes are dark and stare into space. Those eyes so full of intelligence and hope, are empty. For some reason it pains Tom to keep staring at her. _What have you done, Tom? _

He wanted to reach down and shake her, to slap her out of it. He frowned, but took no further action against her. He feels almost accused by her silence - _at least you're alive, Mudblood! Think about that! _

She still didn't move.

Tom raised himself from the floor and didn't look back at her. _Savage. _He's never done that before. He looked down at his hands, all feelings of glee gone. _Filth. I've never lost control like that before. How did that happen? _He touches her shoulder gently, but she flinches away. He desperately wants to touch her, wants to tell her it'll be okay. Maybe he could rub circles in her back like his old matron used to. Well, like she used to do to the other children after he tormented them. A raw feeling rips at his chest, as if something is gnawing a hole inside of him. He barely recognizes it, it's been such a long time since he felt anything - guilt. He's finally done some...irreparable.

_Kill her? It might be the kindest thing to do. _

He looked at her for a long time. "Hermione? I know you felt it. I did too. Hermione?" he asked, voice shaky.

She flinched again as his voice filled the quiet room.

And with that, he was gone.

Hermione let herself flop against the pile of books, enjoying the silence. Her head lolled to the side, tiredly, her hand moving to wipe his spit from her cheek. _Mad man_. She was completely unwilling to accept what had just happened. His words resonated in her mind. _I know you felt it. I did too. _She opened her eyes, only one tear escaping from behind her lids. Her gaze settled on the rubble beside her. What a mess this all was. She pressed her palms into the mess and pushed herself upwards, body protesting painfully. A wave of nausea hits her alongside the pain, and she began to dry retch, clinging to a pile of fallen books for support. She ceased after a number of calming breaths, and through her watery eyes she noticed something hidden under a fallen copy of 'Everything Elf' - a wand. _His wand. _The wand he had thrown away as he pounded her into the dirt. It was just lying there, within her reach, as if asking her to use it. She curled her fingers around it, feeling her magic grow inside of her. The feeling intensified as the Elder Magic added to her own, swirling angrily around her, strengthening her, sending life back into her limbs.

Her mind formulated a plan. There was only thing she wanted to do now, one goal that spurred her on. She pushed the pain, the sorrow to the back of her mind to dwell on later. Numbness spread throughout her body and mind. She got to her feet easily, the magic she had so missed now coursing through her veins. Wand in hand, she headed for the door. She stopped momentarily and flicked the wand towards a tapestry on the wall, transfiguring it into a simple dress. It worked, better than it ever had in the past, the stitching was perfect, the lining perfect. Raising her arms, the dress flew through the air and onto her body, zipping at the back. A small smile crossed her face for a second, before the previous determined frown took over once more.

Her legs seemed to take her to her destination almost automatically, despite the pain shooting through her lower body. The door to the main bedroom was still open, she could hear him inside, clinking china together. He was preparing two cups of tea, she saw, as she rounded into the doorway. Their usual breakfast feast was laid out in the same manner, everything seemed mundane, ordinary. He was standing with his back to her, though he raised his head when he sensed her presence behind him. When he turned to face her, she saw a slightly pained expression cross his features, followed by one of confusion.

"Are you-" he asked, leaning back against the dinner table.

"No. I'm not," she finished, voice toneless, blunt. Tom nodded, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes slightly. He raised his hand to brush it away.

"Hermione, I - I didn't mean to do that," he said, struggling to form the words properly.

"No sorry then, Tom?" she shot back, her fingers gently caressing the wand she held behind her back. _Soon. _

Tom scoffed slightly, though his hands still shook as he ran them through his hair again. "Come on, Hermione. You knew I would lose control like that."

It was her turn to scoff. "Of course. You know what, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you _had _to stick your cock into my Mudblood body. Don't you need a shower or something?" she said, tone raised with anger.

"Don't be sarcastic. I'm trying to be kind to you Hermione. I don't feel good about what I did, but-" he paused, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he looked at her. "But I know you came. So it can't have been that traumatic for y-"

"_Avada Kedavra." _

The green light reflected in his eyes, eyes that widened when he felt the power of the Elder Magic behind that her curse.

He hit the floor like a stone.

_**The end is nigh, readers. Only one more - the epilogue - to go. **_


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue

_One year later. _

"It will be done, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy said, tapping his cane on the wooden floor in a sharp, yet subservient manner. The aforementioned 'Lord' sat in front of him didn't bother replying, so the blonde moved away from the his desk, striding to the oak door of the study and bowing out of sight.

Lord Voldemort let out a sigh and slumped back into his chair, running his hands through his dark black curls. His study was a mess, as it always was, papers littering his desk, filling each corner of the room. Except for one, which was occupied by a large cauldron bubbling over with a strange, stinking liquid. Voldemort sighed again, crossing his arms over his chest. He was stressed, he was irritated and it always showed in his hair. The dark locks were strewn all over his face, slightly greasy from the many days without showering. The past week had been manic - he had been pushing his new motions through the Ministry and his followers were beginning to give him grief. His ideas were radical, strangely out of character - it befuddled the Death Eaters to see the Dark Lord speaking such things to the public.

"_A new regime shall be instated! The separation of wizarding kind is making us weak! Are we to survive only as a deformed inbred race? No more! We must embrace every magical being - blood status is not important!" he had shouted, beautiful, dark eyes glimmering with passion. Lucius almost admired the Dark Lord, he always managed to explain things in such a well thought-out manner. It all made sense. "No more hunts! No more mass exodus. Embrace the Mudbloods, half half-breeds, we cannot let our magic die!" _

"_Has he gone mad?" Bellatrix hissed, angrily, from her seat beside the blonde. They both looked back towards Voldemort's figure, Lucius raising an eyebrow. _

"_No, dear Bella. I think he has seen the future," Malfoy replied. He turned to the side to look at his wife, who sat with her hands gently clasped together, tears of happiness rolling down her pale cheeks. "My darling, are you-"_

"_We must listen to him, husband. We must always listen to him," Narcissa whispered, turning to him. He noticed a genuine smile cross her plump lips - the first in a long while. Lucius nodded._

"_My darling, if it keeps that beautiful smile on your lips, I shall follow him to the end of the Earth."_

Tom let out a sigh and pushed himself to his feet, dusting down his grubby shirt. _You need to bathe. _Slowly, he walked down the corridor, gently shutting the door to the study behind him without a further glance. The hallway had changed in the past year, it had been redecorated with a plush red carpet that rested comfortably between the toes, and cream walls that made the place seem more open and friendly. More lanterns hung from the ceiling than before, sending a warm glow around the place at night. They were alight now, it must be evening - it occurred to him then that he was completely unaware of the time. As he traipsed down the hall, his eyes rested on a portion of wall where a painting of a sea scene hung. He stopped, turning to face the picture with wide eyes. The wall hadn't always looked like that, a year before it had held a wooden door with a matching frame that led to the library. His fingers traced gentle circles against the wall, a grimace playing on his features. He hadn't entered the library since that day, he hadn't wanted to, so he'd merely covered it up; plaster, paint and paintings now hid the door from view. But he would always know the library was there, books still rotting, dust now entirely settled. Sometimes something would slip with age, and he would be woken in the night by mystery crashes. But he knew there was nothing of use in there. He could cover it up, cover the books, cover the body, forget all about it. His hands moved to run through his hair again, but quickly stopped himself for fear of mussing it further.

Finally, he reached the bedroom, stripping his shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor. The door swung shut behind him, caused by a tired wave of his hand. It would be nice to rest after the week he'd had. _Bath. Need a bath. _

A familiar, unpleasant sensation ran up his spine as he began walking towards the bathroom, pulling off his undershirt and kicking off his shoes as he went. Stomach acid began churning, as if snakes were slipping through in his intestines. His skin was tingling, it felt as if blisters were popping all over his body, then came a terrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax. His long fingers began to shrink, the pale skin turning to a slight olive tone. The trousers that hung on his hips fell down around his ankles as his body decreased in mass. He entered the bathroom and immediately his eyes fell on the mirrored wall. His familiar reflection looked back: dark eyes, dark hair, dark smile...beautiful features contorted slightly in pain at the bizarre sight - Tom's face, on another body. It would have been comical, had it not been quite so disgusting in concept. Finally, the bubbling sensation reached his head and the face began to pop and crackle, skin changing back into the original form.

As a final flourish, a mountain of bushy hair sprung from the head, brown curls settled down around a familiar, though slightly foreign, face. _Hermione Jean Granger. You're Hermione Jean Granger. _

She stood naked, observing her body in the mirror. It hadn't changed much in the last year, still fairly thin, pale, slightly haggard with dark circles under the eyes. Her eyes lingered on her breasts and her thighs. No-one had touched her since Tom. It was odd, having his body. The first time she'd transformed by Polyjuice, she had poked her new skin, so pale and hard, she'd run her hands through that silky hair, shuddering as she remembered the way he'd done that as he brutally fucked her. His muscles were as she remembered them, tense and strong. She'd run his long fingers over his torso, skimming the tips over his hips, then his cock. It was strange, how he'd hurt her so much with that. _I'm still not afraid of you. _It made her grimly happy to think that despite him taking her body, he'd not broken her spirit. She'd taken his life, and his body. _I win, I win, Tom. _She let out a deep sigh - it was a pleasure to finally see herself, she had spent far too long in Tom's guise. Almost three weeks now, since 'Voldemort's New Ideas' had been set into motion. The 'Dark Lord' still held major influence in the Wizarding World, it seemed, even if he was really the bushy-haired witch in disguise.

She wasn't quite sure what possessed her to do it, she thought, closing her eyes. After the green curse had hit him straight in the chest, she hadn't been certain he'd even died. But something in the Elder Magic spurred the curse on, the rage behind her words tore through him, through each piece of soul out there. Each piece of soul - except one.

_An incorporeal piece burst from his dying body, ripping through the skin of his chest in a bloody tear, appearing as an angry cloud of smoke that flew through the air towards her. It reminded her of the wisps that had appeared when Ron stabbed Slytherin's Locket, it seemed as if his own body were a horcrux. The vapor rushed towards her, slamming full force into her skull. She was thrown to the floor upon impact. Where had he gone? _

"_Where are you, Tom?" she shouted, propping herself up on her elbows. _

_There was nothing but silence, peace, and a dead body in front of her. _

_She'd touched his face. It was cold, his eyes were glassy and see-through. He was absolutely, unequivocally - dead. But what could she do after that? If a follower had discovered his corpse, she would have paid with her own life - he didn't deserve that, he'd taken too much already. His wand had adapted to suit her magical style almost instantly, she'd noticed that it craved power, not a personal relationship with its Master. _

_She'd dragged his body to the library, thrown it over a pile of books, panting. Her head was pounding, what to do, what to do, what, what, WHAT?_

Who was she now? She was Hermione Jean Granger, mudblood, Gryffindor, presumed deceased in the war. Harry, Ron, everyone she cared about was dead. She'd heard from a Death Eater months later whilst clothed in her Tom-Mask that Ginny had died in the cellars. She'd completely forgotten about her. Who was she now? She was nothing. The only thing she could do now was try to make a difference to the Wizarding World - and that wasn't achievable as Hermione, Hermione wasn't a hero or a villain. She was the brains. She needed her Tom-Mask, he was the key to their world's salvation. A clump of Tom's hair rested in the bedside drawer, ready for use with the Polyjuice Potion she'd brewed in his study. It hurt her to look in the mirror and see him looking back at her - it was a constant reminder of his dominion. He'd never leave. He'd entered her, he'd stayed, he was part of her. It was strange, really, she was the final piece of Voldemort. A horcrux, without the soul. She was Hermione Jean Granger. She was Voldemort. And she would change the world.

_Win, Granger? _

She shut her eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of her nose. Four months after she'd taken his form, she'd begun hearing his voice inside of her head. That little piece of soul had festered in silence inside of her head. Luckily, he was only a voice, he couldn't access her magic. That smooth, silky tone that constantly riled her. Sometimes he praised her for her actions, sometimes he ranted - but he always stayed out of her political decisions, he kept away from her when she acted as Tom. She wasn't sure if that was for magical reasons, or he was just happy to keep quiet and watch himself, still alive, through her eyes. However, as soon as she took her own guise again, there he was - voice as clear as ever it was.

_You don't win. Welcome back to your body, I've missed it. Though I must admit, I love seeing the world through your eyes, I love seeing you take control of my world. They'll never know it was you though, will they. It'll be me. It'll always be me. Lord Voldemort lives. You die. Forgotten, and alone. _

"The world will be better, without you."

_I'm still there._

"Mudbloods, muggles, half-breeds and others will be safe from your hideous plans. I'm going to ruin all your precious wor-"

_Do you really think I care anymore? _

Her right hand moved of its own accord. This was what she hated the most, what made her private life as Hermione absolutely unbearable. He had somehow gotten ahold of her motor actions and was able to fight her for control of her limbs. Today, she was almost too tired to fight him.

"I don't care what you think. I'm doing the right thing. Tom, just let me get in the bath," she sighed, left hand grasping around her right wrist.

_Aren't you going to let me look at you in the mirror for a little longer? _

"Shut up."

She lowered herself into the bath and waved her hands towards the taps, making water gush out in an instant.

_My good girl. I'm so glad we get these little moments together. _

"Please, please, be quiet!" she snapped. He seemed to heed her request and all was quiet, but for the water splashing into the tub. Her body relaxed slightly as the warm water washed over her, cleaning away the tiredness and the dirt of the day.

_The water feels good, doesn't it?_

Hermione groaned, clutching her head in her hands.

_You know, I wanted to have you in this bath the first night you came were wrong to take my life, Hermione. _

As another tired groan left her lips, one hand moved from her hair to her chest. She sighed, too tired to fight anymore. She was only touching herself, wasn't she? It was an odd feeling - when he took control, it almost felt as if her owns hands didn't belong to her. They even felt colder, more like his touch than hers. Fingers lightly caressed her breast, plucking hard at her nipple as the water ran over her stomach. Her other hand moved down under the bubbles and ran over the lips of her sex.

"Please, Tom," she gasped, as a single finger ran over her clit. "Please stop this time."

But he didn't stop. And he never would.


End file.
